A Season for Second Chances(95)

“Yes, ma’am,” said John, sidling past her to the sink. “So, I’ve been talking with Alfred.”

“I should hope so. It would make for a boring work environment if you were both silent.”

“I’ve found a shelter. It’s a few miles away, but they’ve got space.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A homeless shelter. It’s a kind of halfway house really, for people like Alfred. To get them used to having a home again.”

Annie stopped what she was doing.

“What did Alfred say?”

“He says he’ll give it some thought.”

“I must say that’s a better response than I thought you’d get. From what I understand, people have tried to get him help before without success.”

“But there must be a reason for that,” said John. “Something that’s happened in his past that has stopped him from being able to live inside, and at some point, it needs to be addressed. These guys have counselors to help him get to the bottom of all that.”

“It sounds like just the thing he needs,” said Annie. “I’ve been worrying more and more about him. Some of the nights he sleeps in the cave are just bitter; I don’t know how he can bear it. I even thought about getting him a bed to try and tempt him to stay in the Bay instead of going into the city for the winter.”

“Hopefully, this will be the answer. The shelter has booked him in preliminarily for Tuesday the ninth of December; that gives me a bit of time to ease him into the idea. They’re happy for me to take him to see the place first, so it doesn’t feel like such a shock. Don’t mention it when he comes in, you know what he’s like. If he thinks we’ve been talking about him, his pride will get all dented and he’ll take off.”

“Is that what happened last time?” Annie asked.

But the conversation was brought to an abrupt halt by the appearance of Alfred. The three unlikely companions sat together at one of the tables and ate their fish finger sandwiches in the lamplight, while outside the late afternoon grew darker and darker. Nobody spoke about the shelter, though it was clearly on all of their minds.

After they had eaten, the three of them went out to look at the fence. It was dark now, and Annie was about to get her phone torch out, when John stood at the gate and waved his arm toward the house and two lamps either side of the door came on to light the porch area, some of the light spilling down the stairs into the garden.

“Wow!” said Annie.

“The bulbs went back in August, and I didn’t get round to changing them,” he said sheepishly. “I should have sorted it as soon as you moved in.”

“Well, I appreciate that you’ve done it now,” said Annie. It would certainly make finding the keyhole easier at night.

“Wait till you see this!” said John, darting up to the front steps and opening a small black box on the wall.

The garden lit up with lightbulbs strung above head height, all the way down the path, attached to tall posts along the fence. It was like an enchanted garden. Annie felt her heart squeeze.

“I love it!” she shouted over to John, who grinned.

The shrubs were neat and tidy, mostly thanks to Alfred’s continued attentions, and the new white picket fence was good and sturdy and unlikely to shift even with what the coast wind could hurl at it.

“How much help did John actually give you with the fence?” Annie asked, while—out of earshot—John stood admiring his handiwork farther up the garden and reaching up occasionally to twizzle a bulb so that they hung uniformly.

“A fair bit,” said Alfred. “I’ll give him his due. But he spent quite a bit of time fiddling about with lightbulbs too.”

Annie laughed.

“So, I see. Thank you for all this, Alfred. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no bother,” said Alfred. “One thing puzzles me, though,” he added.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Are these really the actions of a man who intends to raze the place to rubble?”





Chapter 72



Alfred didn’t stay, despite Annie inviting him to come up to the flat for a cup of tea. He had “things to do,” though Annie couldn’t imagine what odd jobs he was likely to be doing in the dark. He left shortly before six, his shoulders hunched and head down against the cold as he disappeared into the night. To her disappointment, John didn’t come in either. He had a video call with Celeste and needed to work on the plans for Raye and Aiden’s extension.

“On a Saturday night?” Annie had exclaimed.

“No rest for the wicked,” said John.

Is he trying to avoid being alone with me? Annie wondered. Wouldn’t any red-blooded man be up there like a shot, trying to get his end away?

“What are you thinking?” John asked. “You look miles away.”

Annie brushed it aside with an airy laugh.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, hugging herself against the cold evening. Even with her coat and scarf on, the wind was finding its way in.

“You know I would like to come up, don’t you?”

“Do I?”

“You should.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I don’t want to complicate things more than they already are.”